What It's Like When Your Best Friend Is in an Emotionally Abusive Relationship

I have this recurring, horrible nightmare of a daydream. I'm at my best friend's funeral and his wife is there. She's draped in black lace like an old Italian widow, weeping into a handkerchief. Her sister is at her side, supporting her while she stumbles, almost collapsing. She's the picture of a grief. It's over the top. And then I'm running across the room, screaming. Louder, louder, louder. People are staring. The room is still. She is frozen. And I'm in her face, shouting, "You did this! You did this to him!"

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And then I snap back to reality. Reality is far worse because it feels like I'm suspended in time, swimming through Jell-O. My best friend is still alive, but I wouldn't really call it living. He is trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship and, every day, he loses a little more of himself. She gets worse and worse as the years of their marriage drag on. I'm not using either of their names or mine for everyone's protection, but I hope that what I have to say can help someone out there who is in a similar situation, even if he's not ready to help himself. So let's call them Bob and Emily* and get on with it.

I'm not a psychologist, but I'm pretty sure Emily has an undiagnosed mental illness. She exhibits a lot of the symptoms of borderline personality disorder: intense feelings of abandonment, impulsive behavior, mood swings. She refuses to get treatment and she seems to believe that her problems are always someone else's fault, never her own. She's emotionally manipulative in a way that is horrifying to watch from the outside but makes it easy to understand why it quickly has become Bob's reality. (The term for it is gaslighting, and Emily is a master gaslighter.) She has never hit him, as far as I know, but the psychological torture she has put him through leaves deep, deep scars. He has no self-esteem anymore. He went from being a confident, successful man with hobbies (so many hobbies!) to a shrunken couch potato. He feels this is his lot in life, to care for her the best he can.

"She has slowly cut him off from the people he loves, making herself his entire world."

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I am terrified that one day Bob is going to snap and kill himself. I can feel him slipping through my fingers. We've known each other our entire lives. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Oftentimes, we feel like siblings. His parents feel like my parents. Over the past decade of their marriage, she has slowly been cutting him off from the people he loves, those who have known him the longest and who have kept him grounded. I don't even know if he has any other friends any more. Emily has slowly made herself his entire world.

I'd send an email to his personal account and get a response from her. I'd text him and he'd call back to tell me that she reads them and to be careful what I say. They bought a new refrigerator and I asked if they considered a freezer-on-the-bottom model. She got mad and didn't speak to me for a month (not that she told me this, and I found out later it was because she thought I was undermining her decisions). After she was speaking to me again, I suggested we all go on a fun weekend away. Another freeze-out because I was being insensitive—she has pets and who would care for them? I was no longer allowed one-on-one time with him. Jealousy, paranoia, and fear overwhelms their relationship. He has stopped speaking to me altogether. And he stopped speaking to most of his family over similar small infractions.

At first, the effects seemed small—he was sullen and looked worn. He would cancel pre-planned outings at the last minute. He swings wildly between desperately wanting to get out and needing to fix her. He won't do either.

"This whole thing might seem even more bizarre because he's a man. That's probably what makes it even harder for him."

I know this whole thing might seem even more bizarre because he's a man. That's probably what makes it even harder for him. Where we grew up, there's a lot of macho attitude and traditional gender roles. But men experience partner abuse as well, especially when it's psychological. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, NCADV, 4 in 10 men have experienced at least one form of coercive control (isolation from friends and family, manipulation, blackmail, deprivation of liberty, threats, economic control and exploitation) by an intimate partner in their lifetime. And nearly half (48.8%) "of men have experienced at least one psychologically aggressive behavior (being kept track of by demanding to know his whereabouts, insulted,or humiliated, or threatened by partner's actions) by an intimate partner in their lifetime." Sheesh.

So, I do what the domestic violence counselors tell me to do. I tell him I'm here for him. I don't push him to leave her. I make sure he knows I'm a safe space. But the powerlessness consumes me. I can't sleep, I eat too much, I drink more than I should, because the worry from his life is always hanging over my head. And the funeral scene—disruptive, loud, and crackly—plays in a loop in the background of my brain. If this is how I feel, I can't even imagine how he feels.